


Can't Fight This Feeling

by Grayson_179



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grayson_179/pseuds/Grayson_179
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex's diary entries after meeting Olivia. Something like a lighter, smuttier take on my angstier Time After Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Can't Fight This Feeling

My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you

I've been running round in circles in my mind

And it always seems that I'm following you, girl

Cause you take me to the places that alone I'd never find

REO Speedwagon, "Can't Fight This Feeling"

9/1

I'm not sure what I expected when I started this job, but it wasn't this. With my "pedigree," as my father likes to say (as though I'm a dog), I should be in some cushy corporate law firm already laying the groundwork to become partner. Yale, Harvard Law, clerkship for a Supreme Court Justice, family connections – why am I in New York City working for the government, trying the cases of sex offenders? I have my plans, but they don't involve trying to please a bunch of stuffy friends of my father. I want to be District Attorney someday, and this job is a great way to get into the system.

So maybe I don't have a lot of life experience, and maybe my Connecticut attitude rubbed some people the wrong way, but I know the law, and I'm not going to try cases that don't have solid evidence gathered legally. This has brought me into conflict with, well, all of the detectives in SVU, but mainly with the only woman in the unit. Olivia Benson. She's cocky and has obviously been working just long enough to think she knows everything. She's got too much passion and not enough reason. Of course we all want justice for the victims, but we can't take shortcuts.

She and I seem to clash every time we interact. I may be sure of my opinions and not afraid to share them, but my mother raised me better than to lose my temper. But with Olivia, I can't seem to help myself. We yell, we get in each others' faces. So much for solidarity. I don't know why she brings this out in me. I have to get this back under control.

9/4

OK, I do know why we fight. But it pains me to admit it. I'm hot for Detective Olivia Benson. There, I said it. I think the reason we fought the first time we met is that the haze of lust that clouded my mind when we shook hands make everything else go out of my head. And when she asked me something about getting a warrant for a case she was sure she had solved I overcompensated and put her on the defensive. It's gone downhill ever since.

Let me list the ways this is totally inappropriate:

She's a co-worker.

She's a she.

My mother would kill me.

My father would kill her.

There's no way she'd be into me, even if #'s 1-4 weren't issues.

I can't be distracted at this point in my life.

Too late – I'm already distracted. I'm writing in a journal, for goodness' sake. If I have political aspirations I should know better than to be this honest in my diary. But I'm alone in a new place, and I have no one to talk to about this, so this is all I've got. Maybe if I process this on paper the intensity will lessen and I can get back on track.

9/12

So much for lessening the intensity. Today we fought in my office, alone, both of which were firsts. Up until now we've interacted at the station, and even if the conversation has been just between us, there have been other people milling around. Today she came to pick up a warrant, and somehow we ended up fighting about why we each thought the other wasn't doing her job well enough. On a case we were actually making progress on. What's wrong with me? With us? I don't see her interact like this with anyone else. Maybe she finds me threatening. Yeah, right. She's intimidated by the skinny 26-year-old hiding behind a pair of glasses.

If I could stop picturing her sweeping everything off whatever desk we're near and having her way with me, I might be able to conjure up more cogent arguments and she might respect me more. I have to grow up and be a responsible, mature adult about this. Next time she tries to pick a fight I'll stay calm and rational. Maybe that will change the dynamics.

9/16

Boy, did that tactic backfire. This time we were in an interrogation room after she had interviewed a suspect, and I voiced my concerns about the accuracy of the information he shared. She wanted to get a search warrant to follow up, but I didn't think any judge would issue it based on the man's hearsay. She raised her voice, as she always does, but I kept mine low and calm. I was so proud of myself, until she moved into my space so close I could feel her breath. She lowered her voice as well, but she was no less intense in her argument. The fog rolled in again, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from her lips. I imagined her putting the all of passion of her convictions into a kiss, and the next thing I knew she had stormed out.

9/25

She always calls me "Counselor." It drives me nuts, so I call her "Detective." It doesn't seem to have the same effect on her.

10/2

Maybe if I give in and take matters into my own hands, it'll relieve some of the pressure.

10/3

Nope.

10/4

Maybe I should try again, just to be sure.

10/5

Still nope. But, boy is she good in my head. I wonder if the real thing would come close.

10/13

A week ago I was naïve enough to ask the question: would sex with Detective Olivia Benson in the flesh compare to my fantasy? Never in my imagination would I have come up with the scenario that led to finding out the answer.

I was filing some papers in the cabinet by the door when she came in and closed the door. It doesn't matter what she wanted or what we argued about. The slow erosion of personal space that's been going on for weeks finally came to a halt when she backed me up against my own desk as she made her point. Somehow her hand was on my waist. My hand was on her arm. A line had been crossed. For once, we were silent. I tore my eyes away from hers, to see her fingers poised above the waistband of my skirt. As badly as I wanted this, I wasn't crazy enough to forget all those reasons we shouldn't.

I had to say something – the best I could come up with was, "Detective, you're inside my personal space."

She smirked, leaned in even further and replied, "Not far enough."

Maintaining eye contact, she inched her hand down my abdomen, inside my skirt. I could have stopped her. But I had to know how far she would take it. And my body was screaming for the satisfaction it had been craving all these months. It disengaged from my brain and wrapped my hands around her derrière, pulling her closer.

It can't have taken more than two minutes. I don't know if that should embarrass me or impress me. I held her gaze the entire time, even as I silently came, but I don't know what point I was trying to make. I was pretending I had some kind of control, I suppose. After, she slipped her hand out and licked her fingers. I don't think she meant it to be sexy – it was more of a practical thing to do – but my traitorous body fell for it all the same. She gave me that smirk again as she called out, "See ya, Counselor" and walked out of my office.

But I think her hand was shaking.

So much for fantasy.

10/22

She's making me crazy. Of course she hasn't said anything about our interlude since it happened. But she stands inappropriately close to me when no one's looking. And she innocently drops things next to me so she can bend down and ogle my legs when she picks them up. And that smirk. What is she, a 12-year-old boy? Is this how she expresses her interest? Is she somehow unaware of what she's doing? Or is she a demon, sent from hell, to torment me?

I don't know what's happening. Or what I want to be happening. Part of me wants to slap her the next time we're alone, and the other part wants to keep playing this game to see where she's going with this. If she wanted to invade my personal space again, would I let her?

What does it say about me if I would? I'm not a casual sex person. I want a respectful relationship with someone who treats me well. That's what my parents have. But it's a little cold. And she makes me feel hot. Overheated, in fact. Maybe that's the problem – I don't know how to do this without getting burned.

11/2

It turns out the detective is a little hot herself. Not so unflappable. Of course we were arguing again. It's the only way we know how to interact. This time we were in an empty interrogation room after everyone had gone home. We had broken a case, but she wasn't happy with the time it took to get the search warrant – the perp had managed to destroy some of the evidence before they got there.

There we were, in each others' faces again, breathing heavily – it was like one of those stupid romance novels come to life. I thought the hatred-masking-overwhelming-bosom-heaving-passion cliché was garbage. But I'm pretty sure my bosom was heaving. Hers certainly was. I know because she caught me staring at it. Her eyes were triumphant as she put her hand on my waist. Her other hand reached out to my breast, and she grazed her thumb over my nipple.

Decision time – was I going to be a passive participant in this play, or was I going to give as good as I got? I don't know what kind of spell she's had me under, but Alex Cabot doesn't do passive. I'd show her I had as much bite as bark, metaphorically speaking (for now).

I mirrored her action, and I have to admit it gave me smug satisfaction to see her eyes widen and hear her intake of breath. She recovered quickly and upped the ante. Cupping my breast fully, she squeezed – not enough to be uncomfortable – just intense. Was this how she likes thing, or was she testing to see how far I'd go? Either way, she received the same treatment.

That led to nipple tweaking, and it was like a lightning bolt straight down south. I'm not sure who whimpered first, but we were both reacting strongly. Pretty soon both hands were involved, and I thought I might come just from that. She hadn't even touched my skin yet. I wanted to escalate things, to touch her everywhere, but I was committed to the game.

The game. I hope that's not all it is to her.

Whatever it is, she must have read my mind, running her hands over my arms and down my back, pulling me closer. We were breathing the same air as she slid her hand inside my pants, my hand snaking down hers a second later.

I almost lost control then. The feeling of her fingers, slipping through my wetness, and mine doing the same in hers – it was incredible. I met her stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust. I know simultaneous orgasms are the stuff of dreams, but I was so focused on mirroring her I was determined she would come right behind me.

The intensity of my climax almost distracted me from ensuring her pleasure, but I managed to bring her over the edge seconds after me. She continued to swirl her fingers around me just a little longer, and I returned the favor. It felt so good to touch her, and I didn't know if it would be my only chance.

All the same, as soon as we started breathing normally again, I pulled my hand out, licked my fingers, and gave her a smirk of my own as I walked out the door. "See ya, Detective." See how that feels.

It wasn't until I was on my way home that I realized we've had sex twice and never kissed.

11/7

I want her so badly. She's like a drug, and now that I've had a taste I want more. A taste – I haven't even had a taste – not like I'd like to. It turns out orgasms aren't as satisfying as we've been taught to believe. I want more than that. I want her lips on mine. I want to see her – all of her.

I want her to ask me on a date and take me out to dinner and then have sex. In that order. Like normal people. Normal slutty people who have sex on the first date, but normal-ish people all the same. Clearly I've gone beyond generic sluttiness to something else altogether. Who does this? Who has sex, standing up, with their clothes on with someone who only yells at them and won't even kiss them? Twice. If someone had told me two months ago the answer was me, I'd never have believed them.

I deserve better than this, but I'm too afraid of her never touching me again if I push for more. If I even try to talk about what's happening. I just don't know what I'm setting myself up for. How many times will I let this happen before I assert myself?

More than two, I'm pretty sure.

11/12

I will not throw myself at Olivia Benson.

I will not throw myself at Olivia Benson.

I will not throw myself at Olivia Benson.

I will not throw myself at Olivia Benson.

I will not throw myself at Olivia Benson.

I will not throw myself at Olivia Benson.

11/19

This is so hard. I'm undressing her with my eyes every time we're in the same room together. And she's still standing too close and touching my arm or back at every opportunity. But she never moves our conversation into the personal realm, and she still fights with me over every little thing.

What does she want?

11/28

Going home for Thanksgiving was a much-needed break from the insanity of my life here. It was so normal, at least normal for me. The out-of-control person I've been the past few months was replaced by the well-behaved, dutiful daughter, and I felt my balance return.

No, I'm not cured of my unhealthy attraction to Detective Benson, but maybe it's under control. The big win I had in court today also helped the return of my confidence and self-respect. I can't let her dictate the terms of our interactions. I have to figure out if I'm comfortable being her plaything or if I want more. If I can't get what I want, whatever I decide, I have to be strong enough to walk away from the whole thing.

12/10

Is she insane? Only a lunatic would lean over to me in the middle of the bullpen with all her coworkers nearby and whisper in my ear what she did to me this afternoon. We were disagreeing (I'd like to think the new leaf I've turned over has helped prevent the knock-down-drag-out fights we were having before) as per usual, and I politely requested she come back and make her case again once she's read the statute on the relevant situation, tacking on my usual "Detective."

She glanced around, put her mouth right by my ear, and said, "My hand's been in your pussy – the least you can do is call me Olivia, Counselor." After turning bright red (I can't help my fair skin), I managed to pull myself together and reply, "The same goes for you. Call me Alexandra."

I didn't tell her to call me Alex because she didn't tell me to call her Liv. I know Elliott and some of her closer colleagues call her that, but if having one's hand in someone else's lady parts doesn't qualify one as close enough for nicknames, it goes both ways. Really, no one but my mother calls me Alexandra, so this is going to be as bad as the 'Counselor' thing.

The saddest part of all of this is the 12-year-old in me wants to believe there's something significant about her telling me to call her by her name. That this insanity between us means something to her and that she wants us to be closer.

Or maybe she just likes messing with me.

12/17

Score one for Alexandra! I took what I wanted this time, and I changed the rules. It's still unclear if this will be the end of our little affair because I crossed a line, but I'm sticking to my resolution. I will not let my fear of losing her completely interfere with the maintenance of what little self-respect I retain. And let's be real – I don't exactly have her to begin with.

She was in my office again, and I was at my desk. I didn't stand to meet her – I didn't want her to think I was angling for a repeat of our first encounter. She may have thought she was taking advantage of my position by leaning against my desk and looking down at my, but I turned the tables. When she bent down and put her hands on the arms of my chair to get in my face, as she so loves to do, I kissed her. Just like that. She didn't see it coming, but she responded pretty quickly. I took advantage of her being off-balance metaphorically and pulled her off-balance physically. I don't think I'd have gotten her into my lap any other way.

The kiss was incredible – intense, hungry, deep. Her hands were in my hair, and I was holding her in place. How much does she work out to have glutes like that? Who knows what feats of flexibility might have happened there in that chair if the phone hadn't rung.

She jumped back immediately, with a stunned look on her face. I composed myself and answered the phone in what I'd love to believe was my usual professional voice, but my eyes never left hers. I wanted to convey my desire for more of what we had been doing, to let her know how much it affected me. I probably just looked like a gaping fish. To be honest, she kind of did.

The jury's out on whether or not our first kiss will be our last, but the ball's in her court now (what a terrible mixing of metaphors). I'm too chicken to say anything out loud, but I hope my actions showed her I want more of her. But I won't beg. If she wants me, she's going to have to make the next move.

12/25

I managed a quick trip home for Christmas, and again it's been grounding. Charlotte was home as well, and it was great to catch up with her. We were so close in high school, and even though we've lost touch a bit since then, this week it was like we'd never been apart. My parents haven't noticed anything off about me – at least, nothing I can't blame on a stressful job and a new city. But Charlotte did. She asked who had me all twisted up in knots, and I found myself spilling everything.

It's a relief to finally talk about this with someone. I needed to hear from her how she thought my parents would react if they knew. Not well, she agreed. But she reminded me they're OK with my gay cousin and that not living in the same place as them will make it easier to swallow. It's not like I'd be parading around with my butch cop all over Hartford. What their friends don't know won't hurt them.

Talking about my parents finding out was too much of an indulgence in my fantasy that Olivia would ever have a reason to meet them. I have to put this back in perspective – we've only had three encounters, and she's given me no indication she wants anything more than what we've been doing. If she even wants more of that.

Charlotte thinks my make-her-come-to-me strategy is terrible and that I should seduce Olivia, but I'm too afraid of the rejection. If she told me the whole thing meant nothing to her and that I was just a way to get a little satisfaction I don't think I could keep working with SVU. I have to be able to plausibly say it meant nothing to me either. A failed seduction would just be humiliating.

12/29

I know it's the holidays, and things are a little slow, but I'm starting to worry I've scared her off for good. She hasn't found an excuse to be alone with me, and she hasn't even picked a fight in the bullpen. She still looks at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention, but I can't even begin to tell what she's thinking.


	2. Chapter 2

1/4

I still don't know what she's thinking, but she must have made some kind of New Year's resolution involving me. Our encounter on the couch in my office today was like nothing we've done before.

As much as I wasn't going to make the next move, I couldn't help myself from stacking the deck in my favor. Maybe I was channeling Charlotte. I knew Olivia was coming by to pick up a warrant, so I unbuttoned an extra button on my blouse. When she arrived, I knocked a pen off my desk as I walked around to hand her the paperwork, and I took my time bending down to retrieve it.

Her eyes were on my cleavage as she made a crack about how slow I was in getting the warrant. I snapped back something about how slow she was in getting the evidence, and the next thing I knew I was on my back on the couch, with her on top of me. Her mouth was everywhere – my lips, my neck, my ears (mm, my ears), all the skin my blouse was showing. All the while, her hand was sliding up my thigh. It was all I could do to just hold on.

I pulled myself together and kissed her back. It turns out her ears are pretty sensitive, too. I think we switched to kissing on the mouth to try to muffle the noise neither of us could help making. We'd been so silent up to now – beyond the obvious need for quiet when one is having sex at work, I think we'd been trying to prove something to each other. That we were in control, even as we let go, I suppose. Not today. The way she pants when she's exerting herself is so sexy. And the little moans when I touched her in just the right way made me even wetter than her kisses.

She came first this time. I've never seen something as beautiful as her face as she moved above me, gasping as I brought her over the edge. Unlike last time, she closed her eyes, and somehow it was more intimate than keeping them open.

As soon as she opened them again, she was all over me, her kisses even more passionate than before. I threaded my fingers through her hair as she thrust inside me. It didn't take much longer for me, and this time, I got to hold her in the aftermath. Her smile was genuine as she remembered she had a warrant to serve, and she kissed me as she left my office.

I'm not even going to speculate about what it all means. I'm spent. For now, I'll hold on to the mind-blowing memory, and I'll worry about the big picture tomorrow.

1/5

The 12-year-old in me has returned with a vengeance. The zen me of yesterday is gone. Being with Olivia like that was incredible. I can't stop thinking about it. It wasn't just us releasing our sexual tension – it was two people connecting. It wasn't even close to the normal dating relationship I fantasize about, but it was so much more than those strange first encounters. She had to have felt it, too. And, come on, if she was in such a hurry to serve that warrant, why did she take the time to be with me?

I have to admit to myself now that a dating relationship is what I want. I'm not cut out for no-strings-attached sex, even if we actually had a conversation and acknowledged what we were doing. I'm still too chicken to talk to her about what's going on, let alone try to move things in that direction, but I know now I'm not going to be satisfied with just fooling around. The odds of getting hurt are high, but I've decided I'm willing to take the risk.

For all my big talk, though, I'm not remotely close to cutting things off. If she initiated another interlude tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, I'd go for it. But someday, if things don't change, I'll put a stop to it all. I can't be a fling forever.

Can I?

1/9

Elliott knows. It was late, and we'd all put in a long day, trying to get enough evidence for an arrest warrant for a man we all knew had raped his ex-girlfriend. Olivia and I were sniping at each other out of exhaustion and irritation, not even with our usual, sexually-charged intensity. All the same, Elliott had had enough, and he muttered, "Why don't you two end this foreplay and go at it once and for all?"

He happened to look up just as we exchanged a guilty glance, and I saw the realization that we'd already done what he flippantly suggested register on his face. I'm not proud to say I escaped before anyone could say anything, but I'm sure he interrogated her the moment I left.

1/15

Olivia has been civil to me all week, and I'm not sure if I should take that as a sign of progress or the opposite. Maybe Elliott figuring out there's something going on between us made her afraid others had picked up on it as well. All the same, it's been nice not to fight with her. Frustration with and attraction to her aside, she's a great person. Really compassionate with victims, a loyal partner, committed to justice. And she has a wicked sense of humor if you pay attention to the things she mutters under her breath. We actually had lunch together yesterday – her suggestion. We mostly talked about work, but it was pleasant and as close to normal as we've been.

So she's been nice, which is all well and good, but there haven't been any more interludes (I can't bring myself to say hot, sweaty sex-fests, even in my journal). I wish I knew if this is a permanent change in our relationship or a step towards something more.

1/27

We talked! I still wouldn't say anything about our interactions is anything close to normal, but we finally acknowledged what's been happening.

We hadn't had cause to see each other much, let alone be alone together in a little while. So when Olivia came in my office today unannounced I didn't know what was up. She started asking me questions about a case we're prepping for trial in a few weeks, and she seemed to be looking for something to criticize. I noticed she got in my space like she usually does, but her agitation didn't seem genuine.

A light bulb went off in my head. At least a few of the puzzle pieces came together.

"Are you trying to pick a fight?" I asked.

She looked guilty and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Are you trying to pick a fight so we can…?" I didn't know how to describe what we've been doing, but she got the picture.

"Would that be so bad?" she finally responded, still looking down.

An opening. We were finally discussing things. I was all prepared to define things, to set boundaries, to assert my desires. I asked her what it would mean if we were together without being all hot and bothered.

She seemed to get her confidence back as she replied, "But I am hot and bothered."

It must have been the smirk that got to me – that cocky expression infuriates and arouses me all at the same time. I pushed her up against the door and we went at it like bunnies. Yes, that's my clinical description.

So much for our discussion. But it was a start. Next time I'll be strong enough to have more conversation before we give in. And I'm finally confident there will be a next time.

2/7

Olivia's civility, even friendliness, has continued. I'd like to think, now that we've established (sort of) that these interludes are more than just two hormonal people losing control, there's less of a need to fight with each other. That doesn't mean we don't still disagree, but we're so much more respectful now. She seems more relaxed around me, which is nice. I'd like to think I'm finally seeing the real her, or something closer to it. And I'm just as attracted to the reasonable Olivia as I am the hothead.

I overheard Fin and Munch taking bets on when we'll blow up at each other again (Munch seems to think I'm keeping a New Year's resolution, and Fin thinks Olivia has a boyfriend who's relieving her tension). I guess Elliott has kept our secret, and no one else has picked up on the chemistry between us. I'm relieved – it's hard enough navigating this thing with Olivia while working with her on a regular basis, but if I had to deal with the scrutiny of all my co-workers I think I'd crack.

Elliott's behavior has changed towards me a little – he's not as confrontational as he used to be. He was never as bad as Olivia, but he had his moments when he didn't hold back. I don't know what he and Olivia talked about that night, but at least it hasn't turned him against me.

2/12

Wow. Just, wow. If I let the 12-year-old out, she'd fill this entry with little hearts over all of the i's and doodle Olivia's name in the margins. But I need the adult me to write all of this down so I can analyze it and make sure it means what I think it means. What I want it to mean.

Olivia stopped by my office at lunchtime. Thankfully, she didn't try to pick a fight again, but her small talk was weak at best. I knew I was giving her the opening she wanted when I asked, "Is there something I can help you with?" but I have to be honest I wanted it, too.

She looked at me like she knew exactly what I'd done, but she gave me the clichéd response all the same. "I think so…", followed by an encroachment into my space and a suggestive eyebrow raise. It was so different to be near her like this but without the fighting beforehand. It was sweet how she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a soft kiss. If I were in one of those stupid novels I would have swooned.

But I remembered my promise to myself – that we would talk this time. To try to soften the blow, I joked, "I'd say I'm not that kind of girl, but we both already know otherwise." She smirked and kissed me again. Before I could betray my supposed principles any further, I pulled away. I told her we could justify our previous encounters at work because of our out-of-control hormones but that I couldn't in good conscience spend more of my taxpayer-funded time doing something that was so out of my job description.

She laughed but seemed undaunted – and then reminded me our lunch breaks are our own.

She was still holding me in her arms – why was I not smart enough to tactically retreat as I made my case – and I found myself weakening. I blame this weakened state for what I blurted out next: "I want to see you naked."

"That can be arranged," she said as she grinned and started unbuttoning her shirt.

I don't actually know if she'd have continued, but I stopped her hand and explained. I wanted to see her naked, and I wasn't crazy enough to risk that at work. Despite all we've obviously already risked at work, that would somehow be going too far.

"Come to my place tonight," she suggested. I was so tempted to immediately agree, but stayed strong. I even fleetingly considered lying and saying I had plans, so as to pretend I wasn't at her beck and call. So I split the difference and insisted on dinner. I said we must disagree on enough things even outside of work that we'd be sufficiently hot and bothered by the end of the meal.

"I like the way you think," she said, and the smile that had been tugging at the corner of her mouth throughout the conversation finally spread across her lips.

Dinner was wonderful. I managed to convince myself it was a real date, not a formality on the way to a booty call. Olivia was charming, pulling out my chair for me and insisting I order first. We went to a little Italian place I'd never heard of but that she seemed quite familiar with. I took that as a good sign – if she didn't want anyone she knew seeing me with her she would have taken me someplace else.

"I thought we should carbo-load," is how she and her smirk explained her choice of restaurant, so maybe I read too much into the manners and the locale. But the thought of a marathon session with her, rather than another frantic quickie, assuaged any offense I took at her implication.

We tried to find things we disagreed about, since it was the pretense for dinner in the first place, but there weren't as many as I thought there might. I think I surprised her with some of my more liberal leanings, and she has an appreciation of Vivaldi I wouldn't have expected. But it was more fun to discuss the light things than the heavy. Who knew she was a closet fan of folk music (which I find totally boring)? Or that she doesn't like action movies (which I now not-so-secretly love)? It turns out we agree on which John Irving books are great (The World According to Garp, A Prayer for Owen Meany, and The Cider House Rules) and which ones are crap (all the rest).

We split the bill for dinner – even though I wished it were a date, I couldn't stand the thought of there being any implication of me owing her anything. She didn't argue, and I appreciated having a moment of feeling like equals.

Her apartment was only a few blocks from the restaurant, so we walked. A few snowflakes began to fall, making an already magical night even more so. I decided I wouldn't hold back that night – that I'd let myself enjoy whatever happened to the fullest. Even if it meant more disappointment when tomorrow morning shone its light on the situation.

I'm not sure what I thought her apartment would be like – I have to admit, up until that day I never thought I'd be seeing it – but it was tidy, with minimal decorating, and full of bookshelves. She didn't jump me immediately, which I appreciated. I declined her offer of a drink – no way was I going to be the least bit intoxicated for this experience – and we sat a little awkwardly on the couch.

The image of her as a teenage boy came to me again as I watched her figure out how to make a move. Finally, it came to her – "Are you hot and bothered enough?" she asked. Still sticking to the script.

I debated so many answers in the intervening seconds. I could say yes and we could move quickly into something fast and furious on the couch. Not this time. I could be coy and respond with some awful line about how she could heat me up some more and it wouldn't bother me at all. So cheesy. I could derail the whole vibe and try to have a serious conversation about what we were doing and where it was going. Too soon.

I decided talking, at this moment, was overrated. So I kissed her. Gently, letting us experience the buildup, rather than jumping right in. Making out with Olivia Benson was amazing. Not being in a rush, I could take my time and enjoy the sensation of her lips on mine, her judicious use of her tongue, the small sounds we made as we kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Her hand on my face felt more intimate than all the times it had been somewhere else.

But two people who know where they're heading and have been there before can only hold out so long. Her hands began to wander, and so did mine. The intensity of our kisses escalated, and pretty soon we were both breathing heavily.

She was the one who pulled away. With a serious expression on her face but a smile in her eyes she said, "If I'm going to be screaming your name tonight, Alexandra is just too long."

"So is Olivia," I replied, "so you can call me Alex if I can call you Liv."

"Agreed," she said.

"And," I went on, "my answer to your previous question is yes."

It took her a moment to track back to what that even was, but when she did she smiled. "Then it wouldn't be too forward of me to suggest we take this to the bedroom?"

Too forward. We passed too forward months ago.

She led me by the hand and into her bedroom, turning on the light. I knew she was taking seriously my request to see her naked, and that both touched and excited me. This encounter was deliberate, not something we could make excuses for afterwards and explain away. She wanted to be with me, to let me see all of her and, I hoped, to see all of me.

And, oh, seeing all of her was so worth the angst that led up to that moment. Her shoulders are so strong, her breasts so perfect, her hips more rounded than I expected. And she has cute feet. I undressed her slowly, wanting to enjoy each new expanse of skin as it was revealed. There would be no rushing anything tonight.

The look she gave me when I was finally naked, too, sent electric shocks straight to my center. All I had left on was my glasses, and she gently removed those and placed them on her dresser.

Everything about this encounter was the opposite of the previous ones. It was still intense, but slower, more thorough. I got to explore every inch of her body with my hands, my lips. True to her word, she did call out my name. She was so vocal, so responsive.

After what felt like (and may have actually been, for once) hours, we lay side-by-side in her bed, catching our breath. She made a move to initiate round two, and I finally attempted to play hard-to-get. Or whatever you call it when you've already been gotten but want to make sure you get gotten again. I told her to save it for the next time. I don't want to regret that decision because if there is no next time I'm going to wish I had made love with her all night.

She just smiled, kissed me, and rolled over and went to sleep.

This morning I woke up alone. I wasn't sure how being given the brush-off at someone else's house would work, but I supposed she could have left for awhile and written me a note. I got up warily, put on my clothes, and walked into the living room.

The smell of coffee and eggs entered my consciousness, along with the relief that she hadn't bailed. Olivia came out of the kitchen in a bathrobe and an adorable pair of bunny slippers, her hair sticking up in all directions. With a "good morning" and a kiss, she handed me a mug of coffee – black, no sugar, just how I like it. Not at all what I expected.

We had a leisurely breakfast – she makes a mean omelet – and read the Saturday paper in relative silence. I tried to project an aura of calm, but my mind was racing. What did all of this mean? What would happen next? Should I go for that round two we didn't indulge in last night? I was just about to initiate some kind of conversation with a fairly innocuous question about what she had going on today, when her phone rang.

Of course it was work, and of course she was called in on her day off. The body they found appeared to have been killed in a similar way to a case she caught earlier in the week, so she had to go. Did she looked relieved? Disappointed? I really couldn't tell.

She offered to let me shower there after she left and not rush out. I thought about offering to shower with her, but the mood didn't seem right. She was already in work mode, probably trying to process the new information she'd gotten over the phone with whatever she had learned about the first murder. So I declined and said I'd just let her get ready.

She did apologize for having to leave so abruptly, and she gave me a lovely kiss goodbye, but there was no talk of this happening again. Just her usual "see ya."

Now that the high of a whole night with Olivia has worn off, I'm not sure this means what I hoped it meant when I started writing this entry. She wanted me last night, of that much I'm sure. But for what? An affair, a relationship, some friends-with-benefits thing everyone else seems into these days? At what point will I make her choose? And what will I do if I don't like what she decides?

2/17

We've been friendly at work. We had lunch together again yesterday. I'm still attempting this play-it-cool thing, but underneath it all I'm dying to know what she wants. I just can't bring myself to ask.

2/23

I spent the night with her again last night. We worked late, and as we were about to flag separate cabs, she suggested we get one together and go back to her place. The morning after was less awkward when I had to go home and change and there was no opportunity for lingering.

She clearly has some kind of magical powers over me. I'm still letting her make the rules.

3/9

It feels like we're dating. We're doing everything that normal people who date do, but we just don't talk about it or hang out with other people when we're together. In the last two weeks, we've seen a movie, gone to a museum, been out to dinner three times, had lunch twice, and had sex five times. I've spent four nights at her place, so I have to confess the fifth time we had sex was at the museum. Apparently fighting still makes us do risky things. We have very different tastes, and a heated disagreement over Mark Rothko's contributions to the art world led to an acrobatic encounter in the under-construction portrait wing.

I still don't know every time I leave her if or when I'll see her again outside of work. It's starting to feel too late to put a stop to this. I enjoy her company, all aspects of it, too much. I tell myself I'm not compromising my ideals because she doesn't seem to be treating me as her dirty little secret, and this is no longer just about sex. But I'm still old-fashioned enough to want her to just say out lout that we're dating. And too scared to ask for it and risk losing everything we have.

3/22

The sex keeps getting even better. We may not communicate at all about other aspects of what we do together, but in bed we're incredible. Practice (and we've been practicing a lot lately) really does make perfect. She's so creative. And surprisingly flexible. But it never feels like just sex – there's such a connection between us, a synchronicity. We're not just trying to get to the finish line as fast as we can – we take our time. There's so much kissing and touching, sometimes the orgasm seems like an afterthought.

And despite indications our first night together to the contrary, she's a snuggler. I sleep so well with her wrapped around me. I know she does too. The guys have noticed how cheerful and well-rested she is these days, and she just smiles and tells them it's because of her clean living. Then winks at me. Really, for detectives, they're pretty slow. Elliott just rolls his eyes and changes the subject.

4/7

Yes, she must have magical powers. There's no other way to explain what happened yesterday.

A couple of weeks ago, after inaugurating an accessory (yes, we can talk about getting a sex toy, but we can't talk about our feelings), she told me how sexy I was in the skirt I'd worn to the office that day and that, someday soon, she would call me in the morning and tell me to wear it – with no underwear. Then, she'd come by my office and take me on my desk with our new friend.

I chalked it up to pillow talk – sharing a fantasy, nothing more. I should have known better than to agree how hot that would be. I got the call this morning. No hello, no goodbye – just "Wear that skirt today" and then, click.

Of course, I did as she asked. When have I ever been able to say no to her? Let's be honest, when have I wanted to? I spent the morning utterly distracted, pretending to pay attention to the conversations I was having. The lack of underwear was a liability when I couldn't help getting wetter every time I thought about what would happen when she came. I assumed she'd arrive around lunchtime – ever since we started seeing each other outside of work we've been really good about respecting our work hours (OK, there was that one time in the women's bathroom at the precinct – so tacky, but so good), so a lunch break seemed the most justifiable time to engage in this extremely extracurricular activity. But she didn't show. I got jumpy every time someone walked past my office. It was 4:59, and I knew I wasn't going to get any real work done if I stayed late, so I was about to pack up and leave when she appeared, a hint of a smile on her face.

I couldn't help it – my eyes went to her crotch. If you didn't know to look for it, you probably wouldn't notice, but I did. She caught me and the smile turned to a cocky (forgive the pun) expression as she closed and locked the door.

I expected her to be aggressive, to take me hard and fast. To be honest, I kind of wanted her to. It would be like those first few encounters – blazingly hot. But perhaps over too soon, and Olivia seemed to want to take her time.

She kissed me thoroughly as she unbuckled her pants. Her hands moved to my breast, my thigh. She slid her fingers between my legs, raising her eyebrow appreciatively when she found me soaking. Then she turned me around, bent me over my desk, and entered me, slow and deep. Our bodies being joined together like this gave me such a feeling of fullness and connection. She built up my pleasure with long strokes and gentle caresses. Eventually, she moved faster, focusing her fingers where I needed them most. I thought there was no way what she was doing would be enough to satisfy her, but as I came with a gasp I felt her lose control, her final thrusts erratic.

She pulled out and I turned to face her. The intense mood was broken as she looked around, her pants around her ankles, a six-inch glistening blue appendage protruding from between her legs.

"I came prepared," I informed her, handing her one of the two hand towels I'd brought in my bag. I may be her sex slave, but I know better than to set myself up for having to slink out of my office, disheveled and drenched.

Once we were decent, we had a wonderful snuggle on the couch. When I asked if she was patenting a new form of torture by making me wait all day, she told me she waited until most people were gone because she didn't want to risk anyone catching us. Not, it seems, because she's ashamed of being with me, but because she knows how much my job means to me.

We went back to her place, and she made me dinner. Then we watched TV, went to bed, and just slept. It's like we're in a totally normal relationship. Except for the pornographic activities on my desk just hours before the mundane evening in.

4/19

You're asleep, and you're so beautiful in the city lights streaming through your window. I can't believe I'm writing something so sappy, but you've made me do a lot of things I can't believe. Like reading your journal, for one. But I'm a detective, so I suppose this shouldn't be a surprise to either of us. I couldn't get to sleep, and I saw this lying on your dresser. Once I started, I couldn't stop. It was answering too many of my questions.

You finally invited me to your place. Granted, I had a plumbing problem and you probably felt a little obligated, but at least it means you weren't ashamed to be seen with me in your building. It's amazing reading your journal to realize how much of the same experience we were having. For two people who seem as confident and strong-willed as we do, we were both big old chickens when it came to what was happening between us.

When we met, I felt a fascination with you I'd never experienced. You drove me nuts with your expensive suits and utter certainty about everything. I admit, I liked pushing your buttons and getting the Ice Princess to turn up the heat. I chalked the charge I got out of it to the adrenaline from a good fight until the Cooper case, when I saw your vulnerable side for the first time. Seeing how affected you were by the victim's plight and watching you take on the guilt of her not getting justice, I had to acknowledge my feelings for you were deeper than I pretended. That day, I just wanted to take you in my arms and tell you everything would be OK and hold you until you believed me.

But I didn't know how to interact with you any other way than picking fights. It's how I got you to pay attention to me. Sure, it required me acting, as you say, like a teenage boy, but it worked, didn't it? That first time we were together, I hadn't planned on doing what I did. It was so exhausting walking around that turned on all the time, and when we touched all reason went out of my head. All I could think was that I might never get a chance to touch you again and I didn't want to live my life wondering what might have been. You're right when you say a line was crossed then. We had silently acknowledged our attraction, and if I had backed off that day things would have become awkward between us.

So I pressed forward. And you let me. Looking in your eyes while touching you was one of the most intense experiences of my life. I was stunned when your climax came so quickly – you were so wet and so responsive it make me believe maybe you wanted me as much as I wanted you. But I was afraid if we talked about it you'd tell me you regretted it and that it could never happen again. So I escaped before you could.

I'm not proud to say I "took matters into my own hands," as you call it, in the restroom at Hogan Place as soon as I left your office. I think I came as fast as you did.

I didn't know what to do after that. I wanted to be with you again, but I didn't know how to make it happen. So yeah, I went with what worked before and continued to pick fights with you. And I may have pushed the boundaries by teasing you when we weren't alone, but it was so gratifying to see your reactions. I wanted, in my adolescent way, to keep letting you know I was attracted to you and that I didn't regret what took place in your office. If I had been cold and pretended nothing had happened it would have been cruel.

That thing you did, the second time we were together, was so hot. It took everything I had to wait for you to come first. And when you walked out on me I fell for you even harder. I couldn't believe my luck that you would want to be with me. I was afraid if I said it out loud you'd freak out and end it. Then, when you took the lead and kissed me, I knew I had you hooked.

But your intimidating Connecticut attitude kept me from trying to take things to another level. You never gave any indication you wanted more, which I realize now was because I didn't either, but from my side I couldn't figure out what was going on in your head. Over the holidays I thought a lot about what I wanted. I knew I didn't want just a fling with you, a series of quick fucks at work when our arguments got out of hand. I promised myself I'd try to form a relationship with you outside of the sex. I kept trying to find a casual opportunity to get you to have lunch with me. And then I got distracted by your cleavage and we made love on your couch before I could put my plan into action. But that time it actually felt like making love. And I got to really find out what a great kisser you are.

Then Elliott made his ill-timed crack, and my secret was out. He surprised me with his reaction. The whole thing sounded so tawdry when I told him about it, but he was supportive of my feelings for you and encouraged me to pursue a real relationship. After he expressed his horror that I was sleeping with the Ice Princess and his awe that someone as hot as you would give me the time of day.

I'm not good with relationships. These past seven months of whatever you'd call what we've been doing have probably been the longest I've had. I didn't want to ruin the good, if unconventional, thing we had going, but Elliott's advice spurred me to try to move things forward. So I got you to go to lunch with me, which was a start to my apparently-secret campaign to spend time with you outside of sex and fighting.

But while I was building up that side of things I didn't want you to think I didn't want you physically anymore. And, well, I did want you physically, so I halfheartedly tried to pick a fight with you to get things moving. I didn't really want to fight anymore, but I didn't know how else to initiate an "interlude," as you call it. You can't blame me for us not talking that time – you were all over me after a few sentences.

That first night you came to my place – it meant what you wanted it to mean. I know I didn't say it out loud, but you never said anything out loud either. For a smart woman, how did you not know everything that happened after – me asking you to dinner, the movies, to my place – was us dating? Good grief, we bought a sex toy together. And put it to incredible use, I might add.

But you need to hear it. You want me to say we're dating – we're dating. We're in the best relationship I've ever had, and I hope it continues for as long as you'll have me. You want to know how I feel? I love you. I didn't see those words from you in this journal, so you're going to have to tell me yourself if you feel the same. And if you forgive me for violating your privacy.

4/20

I forgive you. And I love you, too.


End file.
